Israel (98 page)

Herschel and his men held their position on Bet Yerach until the last retreating Syrian troops had passed by them. Then they returned to Degania.

Yol and his mother welcomed Herschel. The buildings and gardens of the kibbtuz had been damaged by the Syrian mortar barrage and there were bodies of fallen comrades still lying where they'd died, but overall the mood was joyous. Buildings could be repaired, and while life was precious, everyone had known there would be
deaths if they stood and defended their home. Besides, there were many more Syrians dead than Jews, and the enemy's destroyed tanks were sending up black plumes of smoke that seemed to symbolize the Syrians' ignominious defeat.

“Well?” Yol demanded. “Did you return the dagger to its rightful owner?”

Herschel nodded. “I did.” He looked at his mother. “You told me not to be soft, Mama, and I wasn't, but Jibarn Ahmed was. He could have killed me, but he hesitated. At the end, when I killed him, I felt I was killing a part of myself.” He shook his head. “Thank God it's over and Degania is safe.”

Herschel looked around. “Where's Benny?”

“He's in the infirmary,” Yol said. “I'm sorry. It's bad.”

“Oh, no.” Herschel dropped his gun. “Oh, no.”

There were two sections to the infirmary. In one the doctor and nurses worked feverishly to save the wounded. In the other section, toward the back of the building, the hopeless cases were lying on cots, made as comfortable as possible with the limited medical supplies available. This was where Herschel found Benny. His friend was lying with gauze wound around his naked torso. The bandages were soaked through with blood.

Benny smiled weakly as Herschel sat down beside him. “Hey, you get that guy who offed your old man?”

“I got him.” Herschel took hold of Benny's hand. “They tell me you were a hero.” He forced himself to smile. “You single-handedly took out a tank.”

“Piece of cake,” Benny said, and then he laughed. “Of course, I was scared shitless!” His laugh became a cough and blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Herschel tore a strip from his own shirttail—there
were no rags or bandages to spare—and wiped Benny's chin clean.

“Listen to me,” Benny wheezed. “I'm lung-shot. I ain't got much time. You tell Becky this. Tell her to keep the Dunhill. Everything between us is all squared away.” His eyes glowed intensely. “Tell her, Hersch. Promise you will. I know her; in some ways I know her better than you. She'll brood unless you tell her what I said.”

Herschel nodded. “She can keep the Dunhill because everything between you two is all squared away. I'll tell her, Benny. I promise.”

Benny relaxed. “That's okay, then. Hey, Hersch? I could sure use a smoke. They always go out with a smoke in the movies.”

“I'm sorry, Benny. I have no cigarettes. I don't think there are any in Degania. The shortages—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Benny squeezed Herschel's hand. “Don't you mind. It's just the story of my life.”

A few minutes later he faded into unconsciousness. For the next four hours Herschel sat by him until he died.

That evening Herschel and a platoon of soldiers traveled by truck with Moshe Dayan to the nearby village of Zemkah, which had been the Syrians' stronghold in the area. They found abandoned vehicles and weapons but not one Syrian. The entire invading army had vanished.

Dayan threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Look! Look! We have had only to bang once on a tin plate, and the enemy has scattered like birds.”

“Becky!” Herschel's voice reverberated against the walls of the hangar that was the main building of Lod Airport. As Becky turned, dimly aware of the boyish khaki-clad customs officer beaming at her, she thought she would not look at Herschel, that her eyes would tell her nothing about him. He had lived through too much.

“Becky!”

She ran to Herschel laughing and crying as he caught her up in his arms and spun her around. He kissed her and she knew at once that their love was as strong as ever.

“Hey, Becky.” Danny was grinning at her. She hugged him, and then all three, arms entwined, walked to the front entrance of the airport, where Herschel's car was waiting.

There was much for her to learn and much she already knew from Herschel's letters. Herschel was an officer in the army, in charge of munitions development. Several modifications had been made in his gun design. It looked as if the weapon was going to fulfill its promise.

Danny worked for the air transport program. Herschel had lent him the money to purchase several old cargo
planes, and now Danny and his partners—a group of the pilots who had flown some of the country's first fighters together—had a company of their own.

“You haven't heard the latest,” Danny was saying. “Me and the guys are going to start building planes here.” He winked. “Not bad for your little brother, huh?”

Becky laughed. “Now all you need is to find a girl and settle down.”

“Well, maybe I'll just wait to see how marriage works out for you two.”

Becky colored. “Nobody's asked me.”

“If they did, would you say yes?” Herschel demanded.

She nodded, and Herschel beamed and kissed her again. She said, “I love you, and I'm so happy.”

“You know we must live here?”

She nodded. “I thought about it on the plane. Philip Cooper has always stood by me. Together the two of us control the majority of stock in Pickman's. He's allowed me to be president, and now I intend to repay the favor by letting him have a chance at the job.” She giggled. “Maybe I'll start a Pickman's branch here in Israel. You all can't wear khaki forever.”

“First we'll start a family,” Herschel insisted.

“First a family,” she agreed.

“Hey,” Danny cut in, “tell her about the portrait.”

“Don't spoil the surprise,” Herschel replied.

“What are you talking about?” Becky demanded. “What surprise?”

“You'll see it, but not until tomorrow, when we drive out to Degania,” Herschel said. “There you'll meet my mother and Yol, and you'll see what we're talking about. It's a portrait of two men. My father brought it from Russia. Tell me, Becky—your own father, he's well?”

“Why, yes.”

“Good.” Danny chuckled. “Man, I can't wait to see Pop's face when he gets here.”

“Oh, I don't think he'll make the trip, Danny.”

“I think he will,” Danny said, his eyes gleaming. “You'll understand later. When I visited Herschel at Degania and he showed it to me, I felt like I was dreaming. You'll understand everything when you see the portrait.”

“I want your father to meet my mother. I want us all to have a most joyous reunion—”

“Hey,” Danny complained, “now
you're
going to give it away.”

“All right,” Herschel laughed. “No more about it until tomorrow.”

They went out to the car, Becky happier than she could ever have imagined possible. She'd promised her husband-to-be that there would be children, but once they were born—

She was, after all, her father's daughter, and this country would need a decent department store.